“—you buried her somewhere nobody would ever find her, and then you went right back to work like nothing happened. Did you ever even love her? Are you even capable of—”
My hand shoots out before I can stop it. I grab my son by the throat and hurl him backward. His spine hits the window with enough force to make the glass shudder in its frame. The city sprawls forty floors below us, with only a thin pane separating my son from becoming a smear on the asphalt.
“I could kill you right now,” I warn him.
“But you won’t,” he rasps, squeezing the words past the pressure of my palm. A laugh bubbles up from somewhere in his chest, wet and choking. “Because I’m the only heir you’ve got.”
If all the bodies I’ve left in my wake, all the blood and sweat and tears, add up to this, and upon my death
